


Slides of The Featherhouse

by weardodo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 50 ways to name the male sex-organ, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Daddy Kink, Dominance, Fingerfucking, First Time, Happy Ending, Implied Underage Sex, M/M, Mild BDSM, Porn With Plot, Powerplay, Rimming, Sweat, Talk of phlegm (tw: phlegm), Teacher-Student Relationship, Threesome, Voyeurism, anal-sex, blow-jobs, chest-hair, cum-play, hand-jobs, musk, sex-toys, spit, therapeutic writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weardodo/pseuds/weardodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is a 42 year old married professor, Stiles is his 17 year old student. Peter doesn’t exactly know how it happened, but he finds himself late at night writing e-mails to Stiles, both relieving themselves of their mutual sexual attraction through written words.</p><p>Or: The one where Peter & Stiles write to each other about the Slides of The Featherhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed the lack of Peter/Stiles fics going around, so I started writing...  
> This is the first chapter. The second chapter is almost done too, but I first wanted to see if there are any people actually interested in me continuing this story ^^
> 
> It's un-beta'd, English is not my native language, I have the geographical knowledge of a brick, so all mistakes are mine =)
> 
> Please don't be shy and let me know what you think! ^^

__

 

**Slides of The Featherhouse**

 

_They’re not... They’re not just ‘fantasies’, you see. They’re like. They’re like pictures, but different. They move and they evolve, like they’re constantly recreating  the events they want to portray. They flow, like a single projected slide containing a whole story that’s already there but that just hasn’t been written down yet…_

 

** Chapter 1 **

 

Stiles had been right of course, and he’d asked the right question because he damn well knew he was right. Peter wasn’t surprised.

 

Stiles being right had somehow always been something that both frustrated and intrigued Peter during his course-classes. Always making just that one sharp remark that brought the whole classroom into a unison fit of whispers and panic. That one remark that left Peter half-sitting on his desk rolling his eyes at the sky in despair, eventually just throwing his neatly prepared class-schedule in the direction of the nearest waste-basket.

 

Stiles was one of those smart kids who’d skipped a few classes and was able to get into University at the impressive age of barely seventeen. Stiles – and seriously, who named their kid ‘Stiles’ to begin with? – had come in that first day talking fervently to his friend, too busy flailing his hands – and _Christ_ : his whole body –  around to emphasize a point to even notice Peter casually leaning against the front of his desk. The moment Peter had seen the kid he could feel his body tensing up as he mindlessly untangled his ankles and pushed himself into a standing position. He’d crossed his arms in front of his body and pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses further onto his nose, as if to protect himself from some oncoming danger. The moment Stiles had literally fallen into one of the desks and looked up from his table-hugging position, looking directly at Peter, Peter had known he was royally fucked.

 

The course-meetings were torturous. Stiles had taken it upon himself to drench everything in sexual innuendos in such a carefully calculated – and actually pretty impressive – way, that you’d have to be willing to let your mind ‘go there’ to understand the deeper meaning. Peter’s mind always went there. Peter knew that Stiles’ mind went that way too, he could see it in his eyes when the boy busied himself with butchering another pen cap between his teeth. Peter was sure that the practices that kid casually committed with his mouth would be considered immoral or even ‘blasphemous’ to most people.

 

Peter wasn’t like most people. Even if the ever present visuals of Stiles’ slightly wetted lips working on a new chew-stick mostly confined him to the safety of his desk to conceal his semi hard-on, he didn’t want it to stop.

 

 

It had been Stiles who started finally narrowing the physical gap that was functioning as a safety-wall between them.

 

“You ride a motorcycle?” Stiles had asked after class from a few feet away while Peter was showing a few giggling ladies in front of the classroom a picture of his [Honda Fireblade Repsol.](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpk8ib5Zon1qfg34g.png)

 

Peter had snapped his head up, not able to contain a small smirk after seeing the slightly incredulous yet impressed look on the boy’s face. He knew it hadn’t really been a question so much as an observation, but he felt complied to answer anyway.

 

“Yes, Stiles, I ride a motorcycle.”

 

“Huh. Figures.” Stiles had huffed in content, mostly to himself as he walked passed the flock of giggling young woman. “Oh, and Mr. Hale,” he’d said while pausing at the doorway and looking straight into Peter’s eyes,  “..I’m going to mail you that question soon, okay?”

 

“O-okay,” Peter said to an already empty doorway. He didn’t know the question Stiles would be sending, but the way the boy had said it, the way he had looked knowingly into his eyes, had given Peter a good idea where this was going to lead. He felt absolutely no need to stop it. Peter secretly wanted it to happen, whatever it was that ‘it’ would entail.

 

 

That night he found himself anxiously waiting, sitting behind his laptop pretending to go over some work while he could hear his wife in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Their relationship hadn’t been ‘intimate’ for quite a few years now, so the need to go to bed together wasn’t there for both parties involved. They just wished each other ‘good night’ and went to sleep. After a few hours of sitting at his desk in the far corner of the living-room, playing chess against a faceless username, he felt his glasses slide from his nose a bit due to gravitational forces. Pinching the bridge of his nose he was ready to give up and log-off when the little pop-up in the right-corner announced the arrival of a new e-mail. _Figures_.

 

 

_Dear Mr. Hale,_

 

_As an appreciator of your overall being and reasoning-skills, I wondered if you would be willing to help me out with this little problem I somehow seem to have come across…_

_You see, I get very easily distracted and I’ve been finding your presence during classes highly distractive. Of course I am fully aware that it would be kind of hard to teach a course without actually being present, and it would be silly of me to even suggest something like that, but I do think you’d be very able to help me out with my little problem in some other way, maybe redirect my distractions?_

_I am positive we will be able to find something that could help us both with our little problem without having to cross certain social boundaries.  Just let me know if you are willing to participate in a solution._

_Kind Regards,_

_S. Stilinski_

 

Peter lingered on those last sentences for a bit too long, fully aware of its implications. Watching the cursor blink on the reply-page, the small flash reflected in his glasses and seemingly screaming in the dark silence of the room, he thought _fuck it_ , and replied.

 

_Dear Mr. Stilinski,_

_What did you have in mind?_

_K.R.,_

_Hale_

 

 

And so, Stiles had told him about his fantasies – about his ‘slides’, as he liked to call them. Stiles was very inventive, and Stiles had been right, he had asked the right question and he knew Peter wouldn’t be able to resist Stiles’ solution of writing down the slides, writing down the stories that they both felt were present but that just hadn’t been written down yet.

 

  _Yet_.

 

 

 

**Slide 1: Peter**

  
An appointment made on a whim led him to The Featherhouse. A small furnished house at the beach relatively near the Riverside Campground. The senior owner of the local Italian Ice-cream parlor rents it out to any willing out-of-towner for no more than a room would cost at the average Pay-by-the-Hour highway Motel. After her husband died a few years ago she’d moved her stuff out of The Featherhouse and into the small  two-room apartment above the parlor. She did what any human being  with at least the smallest amount of sense living in the 21 st century owning a beach-house would do and brought in some illegal builders to renovate.

 

The Featherhouse no longer smelled of adult-diapers  and mothballs. The beachhouse actually looked like one of those modelhomes on the cover of some glossy travelagent-magazine, one that would normally try to lure picture-perfect people into paying too much money for something that’s bound to end up a family-vacation disaster anyway. But not that Peter was prejudice when it came to people like that. After all, they can’t help it that they happen to share a common tendency towards stupidity. Contingent human characteristics that sadly survived the genetic smogg-filter called evolution: C’est la vie. His wife loved to book holidays like that.

 

A heat had been controlling his loins for weeks now, excitement growing day in day out. No two hands would ever be able to masturbate enough to relieve an amenable amount of the accumulated tension. Peter hadn’t even touched a hair on the boys head. Not even a brush of a finger secretly claiming the soft touch of an arm in passing. Nothing more than the furtive e-mails and fervid fantasies. Stiles Stilinski was going to be the death of him.

 

He had taken sufficient time at home selecting the appropriate ‘attributes’: the right _ambiance_ was important after all. The preparations had entranced him in such a way that he nearly hadn’t been able  to work up the zipper of his far too tight jeans. Just before zipping up he swiped his thumb across the hardness of his glans. He felt a sad compassion stirring in the pit of his stomach for the way his dick almost seemed to look like it was now in a state of utter sexual despair. “Trust me, I know how you feel ,” he could hear himself whisper soothingly while he touched the still surprisingly soft frenulum – the ‘lick-line’ as he liked to call it. There’s a reason they call it a ‘sweet-spot’ he thought as he moistured his pinky with saliva in a well seasoned way and softly caressed the small tendon. He closed his eyes as he reluctantly pulled up his mini-brief over his slightly throbbing Pride. Never ever failed duty once.

 

Even though he wasn’t sure about Stiles’ previous sexual  encounters and his ‘preferences’ or thoughts about certain props, Peter filled the empty bedroom drawers with all kinds of toys – some newly bought just for the occasion – making sure to scatter enough lube and condoms around the rest of the house. _Can’t be too sure_ , he hummed contently while placing a small bottle and some rubbers in one of the kitchen-drawers.

 

It’s not like he needed accessories to have sex, but even though he was definitely considered a high-potent and fit man for his current age, he knew he’d never be able to fully keep up with the libido and stamina of a seventeen year old boy.

 

He still had some time to spare before Stiles would arrive, and Peter found himself standing naked in front of the tiltable tall dressing-mirror at the foot of the bed. He flexed his well-trained muscles as he skimmed his eyes down over his own body. All those years of sexual deprivation had made him put his gym-membership to good use. He looked good. He knew he looked good. He was reminded of this fact by the unsubtle pining of the entire female population of his department – well, everyone except that frigid bat that teaches Medieval Philosophy, she only had eyes for all things ‘Augustine’ and ‘Anselm’. Even a small section of his male colleagues didn’t even bother to hide the fact that they were mentally appreciating the way his ass looked in one of his tight-fitted jeans anymore. He rubbed a hand across his neatly trimmed goatee before running it through his dark slicked back hair. He liked it, he liked the attention. But not once had he felt like reciprocating that sort of attention in any way. Not until now. Not until Stiles. He wanted Stiles so bad it actually physically ached.

 

It felt only natural to try out the bed, so Peter sat down and gently bounced up and down the mattress a few times, just to see what kind of leverage it would be able to provide. Mrs Lupin had put her renovation-money to good use it seemed, because Peter knew high-quality beds, and this was definitely not something from an Ikea-catalog. Yes, this was definitely going to provide the leverage he’ll be needing these next few days.

 

He sniffed in the direction of the warm spots of his body and smelled a small amount of expectation coming from his glands. Would the smell be a turn-on or should he take another quick shower? _A robe_ , he’d forgotten to bring a robe. Letting his eyes skim the room he noticed a blue-and-white [kimono-robe](http://i.ebayimg.com/00/s/NTAwWDUwMA==/z/ER0AAMXQDDZR0uJY/%24T2eC16ZHJGEFFm+e7JHmBR0uJ\(v+Z!~~60_35.JPG?set_id=8800005007), obviously made for a female body. It didn’t fit at all, but at the same time in some weird sense it also did. The extremely wide sleeves made it possible for his broad shoulders to fit and even be able to move without having to fear tearing the silk. The deep V of the closed robe showed off a perfect amount of chest and chest-hair. It was too short, that much was obvious due to the fact that half his ass was visible for the world to enjoy. He knew how much Stiles appreciated that specific feature of him by the multiple times he’d caught the boy blatantly fixating on it while obviously daydreaming and drooling. A lot of ballpoint pens biting the dust.

 

_The robe is a keeper._

 

[…]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Lot's of phlegm...?

** Chapter 2 **

_Dear Mr. Hale_

_Just went out on a limb and guessed you had attached that sketch of that sign for a reason other than seeking appraisal for your drawing-skills (which are good, by the way ;)), so I implemented the visual in my slide._

_I actually read the last part of your slide during your course. I could say that I’m sorry for that fact, but the instant mental visuals of your naked body wrapped in a too short silk Kimono-robe kind of makes it impossible for such an apology to bare any truth._

 

_Enjoy the next slide Mr. Hale, I know I enjoyed imagining it. I have a very vivid imagination._

_S._

 

 

**Slide 2: Stiles**

 

With an empty gaze Stiles was looking out the window of the taxi-cab, watching the moss-covered rock and pine-trees pass in an ongoing slur of green. Admittedly, he respected him. No, he _admired_ him. Admiration for the fact that he hadn’t even dared to touch him once, not even in passing.

 

Stiles had almost started to doubt himself a little bit. What if he didn’t find him fuckable enough, not worth it to touch in such a way that it would inevitably leave him moist, open, and in want for more. But Stiles was not an idiot, he had seen the way Hale had looked at him, how it was obvious he had been fantasizing about his mouth and the way Stiles casually tended to ravish any phallus-shaped thing within range, consciously wetting his lips just a little bit more than strictly necessary.

 

He got his confirmation when Hale replied to his e-mail. It wasn’t that Mr. Hale didn’t want him, it had just taken him a little longer to accept the inevitable. He just needed a little push. Stiles let his mind linger for a bit.

 

He has been imagining every possible thing that was going to happen today. He had played it over and over in his head so vividly that he could still taste, smell, and see it all. The visions of their time together in the classroom, the unspoken words and the quick knowingly glances that said it all. Just imagine how much sweat and other bodily moist they could produce together, if just given the chance. He had touched himself thinking about those possibilities multiple times in many different positions.

 

Sometimes he resolved to longer sessions of endless masturbation, other times he just quickly rubbed one out to relieve enough of the tightness in his abdomen and the straining feeling in his favorite maroon-colored pants. After all, he had to be able to ride his bike to the station and, more importantly, sit in a chair during his courses – those pants don’t hide a thing.

 

There’s nothing worse than having a dick that’s ready for action rubbing on the inside of your jeans and against the fabric of one of those college-seats – the friction alone makes concentrating on the matter at hand impossible.

 

He already knew what a lack of release could lead to on a day like that. It wasn’t that long ago that he had started to massage Isaac’s neck in the nearly abandoned smoking-area near the C-hall and although he couldn’t quite remember how it had happened, he could still feel his body firmly pressing Isaac against the wall while rubbing his leg between the boy’s thighs. The awareness of other people being present, other people seeing them ride each other like that, panting against each other’s necks and lips, had made him even hornier – which was, strangely enough, apparently possible.

 

So, masturbation, definitely one of those things to never _ever_ forget before attending classes.

 

He wondered what it was that had triggered his loss of impulse-control that day with Isaac and remembered his brief encounter with Mr. hale on the main stairs of the C-building. They’d awkwardly spoken for a few minutes, consciously ignoring the – _gigantic obviously present neon-light flashing_ –  pink elephant in the room. Stiles liked the way Hale had looked down on him during that little chat, standing a few steps above Stiles. Just thinking about Mr. Hale above him made him quiver.

 

Suddenly Stiles felt his body being jolted forward, almost banging his head against the headrest in front of him. His overnight bag flew from the rear-seat beside him.

 

“What the fuck is your problem!” He exclaimed, not even trying to feign a real question while rubbing his now probably bruised knee.

 

The cab-driver just shrugged in disinterest and gurgled, “Ducks. When Spring is in the air they get horny as fuck and don’t pay any attention to the road. I squashed two last week, all flat and sandwich-ready for a macduck!” He let out some more phlegm-covered gurgles as he laughed at his own ‘humor’.

 

Rolling his eyes as if praying for the Lord to save him right now – _Right Now please! –_ , Stiles felt like his IQ had just dropped a severe amount of points by just breathing in the same air as this prototype of an idiot. “Yes. Ok. Lovely,” he deadpanned, “now how long before we reach that podonk-by-the-sea?” 

 

He checked his watch. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn this guy was driving him to the end of the world, maybe even the end of civilization. “Oh great, I’m probably going to die a virgin and end up ditched in some shallow grave near the Nevada desert..” he muttered to himself.

 

He didn’t want to linger on that thought for too long. Not that it was even possible for him to linger on _any_ thought for too long with that phlegm-spewing excuse of a human-being coughing up the small place with germs.

 

 _What the hell does it matter where I’m going anyway_ , he muses to the window while closing his eyes against the bright spring sun.

 

“Are we almost there yet?” he asked after a while, still facing the window, leaving a damp-spot on the glass in which he quickly drew a smiley-face with his finger. After asking the same question multiple times, he had started making his own cartoon-sequence on the window. The second one was a gallows, but that one wasn’t actually a part of the rest – that one was just to emphasize the fact that he’d rather kill himself than be stuck in this tight space breathing the same air as that vile spunk-fluke for one more minute. 

 

Okay, okay. So, admittedly the wrongness of this guy’s vile nature did make his thoughts linger on being roughly taken on the hood of his – even filthier – cab. But that wasn’t Stiles’ fault. After all, he couldn’t be blamed for his adolescent hormones and his very imaginative – and okay, maybe _slightly dirty_ – mind. The fact that this – obviously incompetent – ‘man’ looks like he hasn’t been able to score a cock in over twenty years, would make it fairly easy to get him to _oblige_ to Stiles’ offer. _Hell_ , the lack of anything sexual that includes another human body (emphasis on the _human_ part) in this man’s life would probably make him think his hearing was playing tricks on him.

 

Stiles can just see it now. “Wha_?”, the guy would gurgle while glancing over to Stiles in his rearview mirror (probably while also wiping away some phlegm- residue from his mouth with his sleeve, but that was an image Stiles gladly choose to ignore right now).

 

Stiles  would slowly repeat his words like he was just chatting about the weather.  “I want you. to pull over this piece of crap car. drag me from the backseat. bent me over the hood of the car. pull down my pants. and take me. Hard.” _Just like that_.

 

The next mental image provided a scene of him with his chest and face pressed onto the hood of the cab, pants and boxers pulled to his ankles and a big filthy hairy hand pressing his cheek into the rusty metal while he could hear himself letting out short high-pitched moans. The cabby would use force to get inside him, Stiles was sure of it. This man probably hasn’t filled up a hole with his pole for years – not including the occasional farm-animal of course.

 

That last though made him huff out a sharp laugh creating another spot on the window.  A phallus this time. He originally wanted to draw a chicken, but the spot had dissolved before he could make it into something more complex.

 

He imagined the sound of his piercing clanging against the hood in unison with each thrust (he’d been so pleased with that Getting-Into-Uni-Early present from his dad. He got the nipple-ring at the same time his best bro Scott got his boring tattoo on his arm), the combination of the clicking sound of metal on metal combined with the slapping sound of a hairy and sweaty paunch against his ass. He wondered if Mr. Hale had any body art hidden beneath those clothes..

 

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by what seemed to be the last in a line of expectorated phlegm-balls followed by the loud – and might he add _very disgusting_ – sound of said phlegm being swallowed. Apparently one of his prayers was going to be answered as the cab came to a halt. The cabby slung his right arm behind the headrest of the passenger-seat while he turned his upper body towards Stiles. Stiles couldn’t resist to let his eyes linger on the man’s hairy and rough arms a bit and just for a second the image of that hand on his hip and the clanging sound of his piercing flashed through his mind.

 

He shook his head and focused on the wooden sign in front of the cab. The wood of the sign looked like it had seen better days – and that those better days would’ve probably been somewhere around medieval times. The sign had exactly one name painted on. It had a bundle of two bronze feathers on each side and a black arrow painted beneath pointing to a rough path seemingly leading into nothingness. “Huh,” Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes “but of course…”. He double checked the name on the sign with the name scribbled down on the piece of paper in his hand.

 

He got his bag from the backseat while he got out of the cab and thanked his chauffeur for an “extremely lovely and truly life-altering ride.” Stiles was made for sarcasm, he had a lifelong relationship with sarcasm entirely based on reciprocity: he made the perfect sarcastic remarks at just the right time and sarcasm provided him with a solid defense against all evil. Sarcasm and Stiles were definitely OTP.

 

Looking at the dark path covered by trees and shrubbery on both sides, he started mumbling lines from his own top-of-the-head version of Little Red Riding Hood.

 

“…hey there, Little Red, were ‘you off to? …oh, just on my way to be savaged by a wolf, nothing special. You?”

 

After all, when you think about it, the combination of his red hoodie with the fact that he was actually walking towards a house in the middle of freaking nowhere where a hungry wolf awaits to feast on him were kind of ironic.

 

Suddenly feeling the need to skip, he started skipping down the path, skipping towards _The Featherhouse_.

 

[…]

 

                                                          

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um... wishing apparently does make it so? ^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot some notes...
> 
> I just love this teacher-student AU-vid and it kinda sorta in some way suits this story as well ^^: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCXHoocJvYI 
> 
> And if you're reading this fic (and maybe even are enjoying it a bit ;)), I want to say 'thank you'! *sending free love & hugs your way* =)

** Chapter 3 **

 

 

 

_Dear Mr. Stilinski,_

 

_Isaac Lahey?_

_The same Isaac Lahey you recruited as an accomplice to blatantly stare at my ass during classes?_

_Really Mr. Stilinski…_

_To be honest, I can’t say that I’m genuinely surprised (obviously also considering the fact that Yours Truly was one of the collateral spectators of your little outburst with Mr. Lahey that day, but that’s neither here nor there)._

_I sincerely hope you’re not trying to make me jealous Stiles, because you and I secretly know that thát is a game you are bound to lose._

_Please do read this during my course. I would love to see your face displaying the appropriate responses. Especially with Mr. Lahey sitting right behind you._

_K. R.,_

_P. H._

_NB:  Get your ass over to the house a.s.a.p.!_

 

 

 

 

**Slide 3: Peter**

 

 

He dragged a chair out into the backyard and placed it against the back-wall of the house to catch the spring-sun at just the right angle.

 

Closing his eyes he let himself drift while listening to the calm noises of the sea. A cool breeze suddenly swept in through the back of the small robe and worked its way up from his ass to his scrotum.

 

“At least Mother Nature knows exactly how to put her long fingers to good use” he hummed in content.

 

The Featherhouse stood in a pretty secluded area just behind the dunes, so Peter didn’t even attempt to bother hiding the still visible parts of his body. His dick had already started to search for a way out through the seams of the kimono. _Was it even possible for a penis to get sunburned?_ He wondered…

 

The image of one of those  little cocktail-umbrellas decorating his now half-swollen lifesaver flashed briefly through his mind. That image quickly evaporated with the thought of having a skewer stuck in his sperm duct. He flinched a bit at the thought and gently pulled back his foreskin to let the wind play with what was given.

 

 

The sound of a chirping magpie rudely awoke him from his slumber and nearly made him fall from his chair. “Shit bird,” he muttered while looking around for something to throw. Alas the only thing within reach was his semi hard-on which was apparently still drifting somewhere in Tuscan atmospheres. He watched the red of the head jiggle a little as if saying ‘hello’.

 

 _What time is it?_ Looking at the shadow his rod was casting across his abdomen, he figured it was about four o’clock. _Where was Stiles? Did he change his mind?_ He fluently lifted himself from the seat and was suddenly surprised to see a familiar figure standing at the man-made path through the mostly withered plantation connecting the dunes to the beach.

 

“Mr. Hale?!” The figure said with a hint of reservation and surprise.

“Well, well, well… Mister Lahey. What a pleasant coincidence. I could lie and say that I’m surprised to see you out here in no-man’s land, but I’d like to delude myself by believing in the magic of wishes.”

 

Isaac looked somewhat confused while going over Peter’s words, but he literally shook it off and started reciting his – clearly memorized –  goal.

 

“Hi, um, yeah… so, _Mrs. Lupin_ , she’s my grandmother…” He said barely maintaining eye-contact.  “From my mother’s side!” he emphasized. And Peter knew damn well why this kid deemed that sort of emphasis necessary.

 

“It’s okay, Isaac.” He tried in his most compassionate voice (probably failing miserably), “I know about your – let’s say – ‘history’. With your father.”

 

Isaac seemed to light up a little after that, not just looking at the ground anymore, but secretly stealing glances of Peter’s eyes with a small smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. So Peter continued.

 

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must’ve been to have absolutely no control like that…”

 

Isaac’s face started drooping a bit, as if reliving certain memories. He started to look downright sad, and Peter was sure he knew just the thing to make this kid feel better about himself.

Alas, before he could execute his plan, Isaac sort of started noticing ánd stating the very obvious.

 

“um… Mr Hale? _God_ … I… I never imagined I’d _ever_ have to say this, but um… I can kinda see your uh ‘package’…”

 

He had averted his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Peter, but Peter could see the boy’s eyes straining to keep from ogling his goods.

 

He knew he probably shouldn’t, but he felt like shifting his hips slightly, just enough to make his almost hard-on slip all the way through the seams of the robe and peak out.

 

“You, my boy, are very perceptive,”

 

A blush slowly crept up on Isaac’s white marble looking cheeks as he tried to look at anything but his quasi-dressed professor .

 

“But come now, Isaac,” he continued matter-of-factly while he let a deviously crooked smirk appear on his face. “you and I both know that thát’s not entirely true.”

 

Looking at his own fingernails with a purposefully smug face feigning disinterest, Peter slowly glanced up to meet Isaac’s wide blue eyes.  

 

To Peter’s amusement, the suddenly very confused and frantically moving blonde angel tried to ‘casually’ defend his claim.

 

“Um. I _ um, no. No, it’s… It’s definitely there man. If I were to be looking in that direction,” he flapped a hand in Peter’s general direction “I’d definitely be getting an eye-full and..”

 

Peter cut him short, mainly because the kid looked like he was mere seconds away from curling his 6.5ft body up into a ball and have an existential crisis. And to be honest, Peter wasn’t really in the mood for that kind of _chit-chat_ right now.

 

“Oh, come now Isaac, I’m not talking about thát,” Peter looked right into the boy’s bright blue eyes, still baring his smug grin, “I’m talking about you lying about never having imagined my ‘cock’”

 

 Peter made sure to emphasize that last word by letting the two c’s slip from his palate in short and foreign sounding _pangs_ – he was aiming for something a bit _French_.

 

Isaac looked like he was waiting for a flock of birds to exit his mouth. It was actually a very endearing sight. Alas Peter actually really did want to know what in the name of Edgar Allan Poe had brought Isaac here in the backyard of a secluded beach-house in the middle of _fuck knows where_ in the first place, especially while Peter was standing there with his half-mast visible to the world waiting for his jailbait student to arrive – a student Mr. Lahey himself was very familiar with . Luckily Isaac regained himself enough to answer that question for him.

 

“My grandmother,” he finally spewed almost tripping on the words while wiping some glistering saliva from his bottom-lip with the back of his hand. He still looked star-struck, eyes still wide and oozing disbelief and shock. Peter could swear he also saw a hint of curiosity. “I’m uh… I’m helping her out this weekend and she forgot the, um, she forgot to give you the key to the sauna.”

 

“Oh,” peter couldn’t help but say in an utterly disappointed way. “Keys to the sauna, that would be lovely.”

 

He took a few steps towards Isaac, who was now holding out a wooden keychain baring a single key. Intently invading the young boy’s personal space and literally poking his enthusiasm against the boy’s thigh, he slowly grabbed the keychain from his hand.

 

“You know, “ he whispered in the boys ear as he leaned in a bit. “I would give you _all_ the control you want.”

 

He slowly backed off hearing an audible gulp coming from Isaacs throat. He focused on the boy’s very visible Adams-apple, watching it bob up and down in unison with the sound. Before Isaac had a chance to regain his composure and reply, they were suddenly interrupted by another – very familiar – voice coming from the gate at the side of the house.

 

 

“Oh my god! Is that Isaac?!”

 

 

[…]

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tip: don't drink and write, especially not in a foreign language ;)
> 
> Sorry about the slow-build, but they wouldn't let me rush it =/  
> (that's another tip btw: always blame it on the fictional characters ^^)
> 
> Hope you like it, let me know what you think! =)

 

 

** Chapter 4 **

_Dear Mr. Hale,_

 

_Touché._

_S._

 

_Ps: don’t worry, he’ll be back ;)_

 

**Slide 4: Stiles**

 

Apparently the skipping-part wasn’t one of his brightest ideas, Stiles concluded as one of his feet got caught behind a tree-root that had managed to worm it’s way through the ground in the middle of the path. Flailing his whole body and almost nose-diving face first to the ground, he managed to avoid any real damage by letting his palms take the hit.

 

“Fuck me,” he muttered as he looked back and shot daggers at the guilty root while pushing himself up from the ground. Wiping the dirt from his palms, he looked around taking in his surroundings. The change in scenery must have slipped his attention, because instead of walking through a darkened woodland path, everything around him now looked sunny and bright. Less tree and more bush. And flowers.

 

Looking at the flowers gilding each side of the path, he rolled his eyes. “Can it get any more _Little House on The Prairie_ ,” he questioned mockingly.

 

After relieving his blather against the nearest tree in retaliation for almost giving him a heart-attack ánd a battered face, he took his pants all the way off and removed his underwear. Zipping up his pants and swiping up his bag from the ground where he – _oh so gracefully_ , he might add – flung it to the ground during the ‘tree-root incident’, he threw his Elmo-boxers ( _what? Elmo rocks!)_ into one of the – to Stiles’ opinion far too ‘happy’ looking – bushes.

 

“Don’t really need that,” he concluded, as he continued down the path.

 

It wasn’t all that long before he could see the dead-end of the path being graced with a half-open iron gate. Even from a distance he could see the white of the paint peeling. The air was filled with a smell that reminded him of his Spring-break at the Daytona Beach in Florida last year. He and Scott had begged their parents for a whole year before they finally folded.

 

That beach-experience had only been mildly disappointing, at least for Stiles. There were no dunes. No dunes meant no chance for Stiles to explore if the myth about gay men using the dunes to hook up and get off really bore any truth. Okay, so maybe ‘mildly disappointing’ doesn’t really cover the extent of disappointment Stiles felt during that break.

 

As he approached the gate he noticed a rather old looking sign that actually had bundles of real feathers hanging underneath it from sturdy looking pieces of string. Stiles didn’t even try to strain his eyes to see what the mostly faded word on the sign read. He walked past a planter on the left side of the gate and looked through the peeling white bars. _There is a God_ , he thought as he took in the sight of the dunes splayed out at what must be the back of the house.

 

Shaking his head to prevent an oncoming daydream, he suddenly caught sight of Mr. Hale and someone else Stiles’ couldn’t quite make out. He didn’t really know what to think. The older man’s back was towards the gate and Stiles couldn’t help the little bit of drool escaping his mouth. The sight of his painfully hot older professor wearing a _way_ too short woman’s Kimono-robe looked both absurd and  absolutely enticing.

 

“There _really_ is a God,” he fist-pumped the air while miming the words ‘Thank You’ to the sky. Mesmerized by the view, Stiles wiped the spit from his bottom-lip. _Oh wow, that ass_. 

 

Eyes still fixed on the bottom part of the display – he was only human, after all –, he saw the man turning a bit sideways while taking a few steps towards the other figure. The change in position made sure that Stiles was now blatantly staring at the man’s fully erect baton peaking up from under the robe. “I take it back! The robe is fine, ab-so-lute-ly _fine_ , no shortage going on there, nope, not too short _at all_ ,” he mumbled amused to no-one in particular.

 

The new position of the man – who was now practically stabbing the other person’s thigh with his erection – made it possible for Stiles to get a better look at the scene at hand, and as he watched the older man retreat from his thigh-poking position he suddenly recognized the other guy.

 

“Oh my god! Is that Isaac?!,” he practically yelped in disbelief while he took the last few steps through the gate and finally entered The Featherhouse property.

 

Both men looked a bit startled as they watched Stiles walk up with his mouth still gaping in disbelief.

 

Luckily Stiles wasn’t the only one who looked like he just saw Abe Lincoln fly by on a sparkling unicorn, because Isaac’s jaw was literally hanging off its hinges.

 

“Stiles?” Isaac asked without really asking.

 

“The one, the only,” Stiles retorted, aiming for casual and confident, but probably coming across nervous and desperate. “So,” he said, looking straight at Peter. “Isaac…?”

 

Isaac eyes moved from Stiles to Peter and back again, and as if hit by a sudden realization he closed his still gaping mouth and gave a quick nod while his mouth quirked into a small knowingly smirk.

 

“I’ll just be going now then,” he said with his hands up as if trying to soothe the scene at hand. “Stiles,” he nodded once towards Stiles. “Mr. Hale,” another nod directed at Peter.

 

Isaac turned to walk away, but before he could disappear back into the dunes, Peter spoke.

 

“Oh and Isaac, that offer still stands,”

 

Stiles watched Isaac’s shoulders tense a bit as the guy slowly turned around, looking at Peter and giving a single nod once more.

 

“I’ll remember that, Mr. Hale,” he replied as if contemplating all of his previous life-choices.

 

Peter quirked a smile at that. “You do that, Isaac, and please, do call me ‘Peter’, we are not on school-grounds.”

 

Stiles had to admit that that last little wink Peter threw at Isaac was pretty impressive. The perfect display of a smooth operator _MJ-style_. His smooth operator. All smooth and operator-y. All his for a whole weekend long. He felt himself gloat a little bit at that thought.

 

He turned towards Peter, not even bothering to question Isaac’s presence in butt-fucking Egypt. After all, there were more pressing matters at hand. He turned his gaze towards Peter only to see the man staring straight at him. There was still an unbearable amount of distance between them, and before either of them could even utter one word, Peter threw a wooden keychain in the direction of the house while Stiles dropped his overnight-bag to the floor and flung himself towards the older man.

 

As he almost made it into a personal mission to fuse himself with the other man’s body, Stiles felt the insurmountable evidence that Peter was happy to see him pressed hard against him.

 

“You can call me ‘Peter’ too, you know,” he purred into Stiles’ ear while he slipped one hand in the back of his pants, kneading his bare ass while simultaneously pressing him even closer against his own body, slipping one knee between his legs and almost lifting him from the ground.

 

Stiles had felt Peter’s hand stop for just a second the moment it entered his pants and touched his ass, as if startled by the lack of clothing. _Score_ , Stiles thought as he mentally made a fist-pump.

 

He knew he was practically audaciously humping the other man’s leg, but the friction just felt way too good to stop. _They were finally able to touch each other_. He’d already taken it upon himself to retaliate the ass-grabbing and was fervently kneading Peter’s well-trained and ridiculously well-formed – no seriously: _ridiculously well-formed_ (!) – ass, pulling the man firmly against him in unison with each rub.  

 

He could literally feel his own sweat and pre-come damping up the inside of his pants, and suddenly realized the purpose behind underwear. Before he could put any more thought into that, Stiles’ zip-up hoodie fell from his shoulders and the overwhelming feeling of lips, tongue and teeth demanding a claim on his neck and throat made him see stars. _How many g-spots can one man have exactly?_

 

Stiles wasn’t even able to fully process that thought either, as Peter grabbed his hair and pulled his head back before literally plunging their lips together. It was messy, hungry, a tongue seeking entrance without asking for any permission and Stiles gladly letting it in. The passion and heat with which they tried to claim each other’s mouths was becoming almost too intense to bare. They were clearly both starving and trying to escape famine by feasting on one another.

 

If this was going to go on just a little while longer, Stiles was sure he would be able to cross off his first orgasm. He could feel his lips bruising beneath Peter’s and suddenly the tension was rudely interrupted by the clash of teeth. _Starving_ , he thought and he let out a small snort.

 

As Peter removed his lips from his, he could feel the now cooled off saliva in his neck still marking the spot of the man’s first claim. The combination of that thought with the feeling of Peter’s hand that was now finding its way underneath his shirt made him shiver.

 

 _Apparently the man is a fan of self-flagellation and torture_ , Stiles mentally noted as Peter suddenly stopped and offered him some coffee instead of taking him right here and right now.

 

 

[…]


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there... ;)
> 
> btw, if you want to see certain things happen —qua sex?—, you can always let me know (the ending and a certain other part are already fixed, but there is plenty of room left to play ^^)
> 
> -x-

** Chapter 5 **

                                           

 

_Dear Mr. Stilinski,_

_Congratulations on your grade. Very impressive. It’s good to see our extracurricular activities helping you stay focused so well…_

_Maybe you could help Mr. Lahey with some extra ‘study-sessions’? (just a thought)_

_And Stiles, please, for the love of all that is sacred in this world: never wear those shorts to school again. Ever!_

_P. H._

 

 

 

**Slide 5: Peter**

 

 

 _There he is_.

 

 _A whole weekend alone with his favorite little filth-mouthed accomplice._ He felt a sudden burst of adrenalin rush through his body as he restrained himself from jumping the boy right then and there. _No need to forgo all manners._

 

Taking in the display of the two young men ogling each other like they just found out the world really isn’t flat, he felt his pelvis turning automatically towards the new arrival. The throb of his fully operating landline was becoming so apparent, that he could swear he was hearing it _beep_ out a Morse-code. _SOS. SOS. NEED. WANT. NOW_.

 

Luckily it didn’t take too long for Isaac to take a hint and announce his departure. Peter just hoped that the boy knew he would be welcome to join in whenever he liked – _after_ he and Stiles had greeted each other _properly_ that is. Peter, being every bit the gentleman that he is, felt compelled to assure Isaac of his invitation. And from what he could see on the other boy’s face in response, _yes, he’ll definitely be back_.

 

Watching the tall boy retreat into the dunes, a soft beach-breeze playing with his blonde curls, Peter couldn’t help the invading mental image of Isaac fervently playing with himself.

 

He shook that – very vivid – image off quickly and turned towards Stiles. _His Stiles. His wanton Stiles, all his, all weekend long._ He watched the boy slowly turning his line of sight from the spot where Isaac had just disappeared until he met Peter’s gaze. Peter knew he was blatantly staring, but he saw no point in denying the obvious want he felt for the kid. That and the fact that he just really had a hard time focusing without his glasses. 

 

He felt a moment of reluctance, wondering what would be the appropriate way to say ’hello’. _Should he offer coffee first?_ They’d been purposefully avoiding any form of physical contact. And now. Now the possibilities were literally endless. Just thinking about all those oodles of possibilities, all the things he would be able to do to Stiles, to that mouth. All the things Stiles would be able to do to him _with_ that mouth…

 

He flung the key to the sauna in the general direction of the house at exactly the same moment that Stiles decided to lose his own excess baggage. _Great minds think alike_ , he thought as he braced himself a little when Stiles took no half measures and downright jumped his bones (and with that, his still ever present boner).

 

Peter clearly hadn’t realized the true extent of his cravings, because when Stiles pressed his whole body against him as if it were a matter of life or death, he instantly felt like something feral inside him taking away all his _rationale_ , and all that was left was pure unadulterated lust. It was like they couldn’t touch each other enough, like it would never be able to suffice.

 

As he slipped his hand down the back of the boy’s pants he was pleasantly surprised to find nothing but Stiles’ nakedness underneath his grip. No boundaries. Nothing to keep his hand from freely feeling everything it could reach.

 

He flung his arms around him just a little bit tighter and he could almost feel the boy being lifted from the ground as he pressed his knee in between his thighs.

 

He knew what he wanted right now, but they had a whole weekend to fulfill every single one of the fantasies that had been keeping him awake for months. _First things first_ , he thought, as his free hand subtly worked down the zipper of Stiles’ hoodie and he slowly but purposefully made sure it slid from the boy’s body.

 

Not even taking a second to linger at the sight of the now freed neck, he planted his mouth on the bared flesh and started sucking, licking, and biting with gusto.

 

Hearing the little gasps and the deep long moans that escaped the boy’s throat, he imagined all the filthy sounds Stiles would be capable of making. He wanted to hear them all. He wanted to make Stiles moan and beg and cry. He wanted to tell Stiles how good he tasted, how much he had been craving for that first taste, how much he wanted to taste every last inch of him. _But now was definitely not a good time to talk._

 

Suddenly feeling the need to catch those moans, he let his free hand roam up the back of the boy’s neck. Taking hold of his hair in a tight and demanding grip, he pulled back Stiles’s head and merged their lips together.

 

Peter knew this wasn’t kissing. This was claiming. They were now claiming each other’s mouths, and soon they would be claiming each other’s bodies.

 

The poignant feeling of his manhood being unceasingly crushed between the rough fabric of Stiles’ jeans and the silk of the robe was suddenly very present, and Peter knew he had to stop before they’d rub it into any permanent damage. After all, it was an insuperable fact that foreskin wasn’t the only skin he needed down there to fully function..

 

Releasing himself from Stiles’ mouth, he tried to regain his composure and let his knee slip from between the boy’s thighs. He could feel the tight grip on his ass diminish almost instantly and he couldn’t help his hand from trying to put that newly created space between their chests to good use. As he slowly let his fingers trail up the boy’s chest underneath the boy’s shirt his now almost grated utensil brushed against the jeans once more.

 

“Coffee?” he almost coughed in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice.

 

 

Taking Stiles’ hand, braiding their fingers together and swiping up the overnight bag and the key on the way, he started walking towards the double French doors that led into the house’s main quarter.

 

The living-room was spacious and as Peter walked towards the open-plan kitchen, Stiles mumbled something about slipping into something more ‘comfortable’. Watching the boy carrying his bag into the bedroom, he started busying himself with the antique coffee-pot. _Clearly not everything in the house has been updated._

 

As he convulsively tried to figure out the purpose of the overflow of buttons, Stiles emerged from the bedroom wearing an ensemble that literally made his jaw drop in awe.

 

Stiles wasn’t kidding when he said he would be slipping into something more ‘comfortable’.

 

As if the way how that oversized singlet nonchalantly exposed half his chest wasn’t enough, the boy had somehow managed to worm his way into a pair of [shorts](http://lifestylebydanijel.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/short-shorts.jpg) that gave new meaning to the word ‘short’. He didn’t even know they made shorts like that for men.

Stiles was clearly enjoying the way he was mentally scrambling to regain his composure – if the way he casually placed one hand on the dining-table, letting his hip flaunt sideways was anything to go by. He topped it off by placing the index-finger of his other hand playfully against his pouty bottom-lip while letting his eyes go towards the ceiling above Peter. A perfect display of feigned innocence.

 

Peter suddenly knew exactly where Nabokov came from.

 

Stiles slowly walked towards him, kissing him once, deep, gently catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away. Peter was still speechless as he watched how the boy hopped onto the countertop and playfully started dangling his legs back and forth a bit.

 

_Those shorts don’t hide a thing._

 

Snapping out of his daze, Peter turned around to continue trying to tame the sorry excuse for a coffee-maker. _What a flaming shit machine_ , he mentally muttered as he felt Stiles’ eyes burning in the side of his head.

 

“Water?” he noted aloud as he looked at Stiles while wiggling the coffeepot.  

 

Stiles got the hint and fluently hopped of the countertop, making room for Peter to use the faucet. Reposition himself on the oak dining-table, Peter noticed the way Stiles’ semi-hard cock had almost managed to find its way through the leg of his shorts and was leaking a few drops of pre-come onto his thigh.

 

Not even trying to hide a smirk, he intently watched the little drops slowly trailing into streaks.

 

“I hope the drive over here was okay,” he said in between licking his lips. “Did you have a nice chauffeur?” he added with an air of fake interest.

 

Stiles just shrugged as he followed Peter’s gaze down towards his own thighs.

 

Watching Stiles look at the little glistering smudges on his own thigh in fascination, Peter did what any responsible adult would do in a situation like this and offered his aid.

 

“Would you like me to get that for you?” he asked with a wolfish grin.

 

“How thoughtful,” Stiles replied as he bit his bottom-lip in expectation.

 

Flinging the coffee-pot uncaringly into the sink he positioned himself almost fully in front of Stiles, who looked up at him expectantly while leaning back on his palms

 

Bending towards Stiles, he placed his hands beside either side of the boy’s hips, his eyes never leaving the wide amber ones in front of him. Bowing down even more, he placed his bottom-lip on the inside of the boy’s thighs just above his knee. Gaze still wantonly fixed on Stiles’, he started to slowly drag his bottom-lip up the boy’s thigh until he got to the now mostly dried up smudges of pre-come.

 

The moment his wet tongue joined in, he could hear an almost sinful gasp leaving the boy’s mouth. Curious about what other sounds his actions would be able to produce, he purposefully dragged his tongue up and down the younger man’s thigh in a painfully slow manner.

 

“Oh my_ God!” He heard the boy exclaim as he made sure to let the tip of his tongue drift inside the leg of the shorts after every upward movement, teasingly touching Stiles’ still leaking head.

 

When Stiles placed a hand leisurely on top of his head, playfully tugging his hair in unison with each movement, Peter started to lap at his groin as if his life depended on it – and to be honest, right now his life probably did depend on it.

 

Stiles opened his legs up even more, giving him better access and Peter replied by pulling the boy’s hips towards him, relocating his hands by slipping them underneath his legs, making Stiles lean back further on his elbows. He couldn’t help the growling sounds that escaped his throat as he felt Stiles getting harder while he nuzzled the side of the sinfully short shorts.

 

Pulling away to take a better look at his workmanship, he noticed a new set of pearly drops of pre-come forming at the extensively licked spot. _So much for bearing the fruits of labor_.

 

Opening up his robe to get a better access, he positioned himself in between the younger man’s thighs. While he started to work up the loose singlet, letting his tongue trail up every piece of newly bared skin, he pulled Stiles down even more, letting the boy’s legs come to rest on top of his shoulders.

 

Letting his own throbbing bishop rest on top of the front of Stiles’ now damp shorts, he finally decided he had enough of the excess pieces of clothing, and started to roughly pull off the singlet with one hand, throwing it on the table behind Stiles.

 

“We don’t really need that, now do we?” he rhetorically purred in the boy’s ear while he started to nibble on his earlobe.

 

“Oh God,” Stiles gasped again.

 

Looking down at the younger man’s exposed chest he suddenly notices the little silver ring decorating one of his nipples. _Now there’s a nice surprise._ He looked up to make his assent known to Stiles, only to see the boy taking in the scene with an overly smug grin.

 

It’s not that he can’t appreciate the kid’s bold smugness, but he felt compelled to wipe that grin of the boy’s face anyway, so while maintaining eye-contact he started to trail his tongue towards the adornment stopping short just before he reached the tender flesh. Stiles’ smug grin had slowly faltered with each approaching inch, eyes growing wider while incessantly wetting his lips.

 

Now it was Peter’s turn to display a smug grin. He gave Stiles’ a wink and planted a wet kiss on top the intended nipple.

 

“Later,” he promises, while pressing himself forward, covering the boy’s body with his own. He slowly started to rut back and forth. Every roll of his hips with just enough amount of pressure, making them both moan in unison.

 

The begging plead of “Oh god, Peter, _please_ …” was all he needed to back off and roughly pull Stiles off the table only to turn him around and bend him back over, draping himself all over the boy’s back. By covering Stiles’ hands with his own and tangling their fingers together he made sure there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

 

“Is this what you want, huh?” he breathed into the boy’s neck with a gravelly voice as he pressed his hardness in circles against Stiles’ perky little ass, making the fabric of his short shorts disappear between his cleft. “Do you want me to take you like this, fuck you hard like this?” He punctuated his words by pressing his length between the younger man’s  clothed cheeks, bruising the boy’s hips against the edge of the table-top.

 

He could actually see a trail of saliva hanging from the boy’s mouth, already leaving a little puddle on the oak table as he moaned in reply.

 

“ _Please_ ….”

 

 

[…]

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, I had to deal with RL ánd a serious lack of inspiration =/ 
> 
> Hope the requested 'daddy-kink' worked out ok?
> 
> Oh, and there's a slight shift of pov down the line (Isaac's pov to be exact ^^)
> 
> Anyway... hope you like it!
> 
> -x-
> 
> NB: I noticed some of the links not working, I tried to fix them, so I hope they're working ok now ^^

** Chapter 6 **

 

****

 

_Dear Mr. Hale,_

_I am pleased to inform you that ‘Mr. Lahey’ and Yours Truly have decided to become study-buddies._

_(it’s going rather well, I might add)_

_We have a little surprise for you. (yes, you read that right: we)_

_Seeing as we know how busy you must be at this particular time (papers being due for final grading, teacher-conference, end-of-term meetings etc.), we’re going to make sure this slide will be nice and long (no innuendo intended of course ;))._

_S.S. & I.L._

_Ps: Took the liberty to include a certain fact about you. Basic deduction based on your own statements about being married for 24 years, being married to your high-school sweetheart, ánd your own claim of monogamy._

 

 

 

**Slide 6: Stiles & Isaac**

 

 

 

Even though it was kind of endearing to watch him fuck around with that museum-piece of a coffeepot, Stiles was about ready to strangle the man. To death!

 

He was sitting right there goddamned! Right there, dangling his legs suggestively and wearing his carefully selected _Lolita-Eat-Your-Heart-Out_ jailbait ensemble for crying out loud! Even his _Deposit-Your-Seed-Here-Please_ doe-eyes didn’t seem to have any effect on the man’s mission for coffee. _Fucker._

_If only_ , he heard his mind mockingly retort.

 

 _How is this guy even for real?_ He watched the man’s hard-on – that could probably cut through diamonds right about now – poking the counter from underneath that god-awful robe. _Not even a decomposing Japanese elderly would want to be found dead in something so culturally offensive_ , Stiles thought as he started to question his own appeal. _He wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t._

 

He should’ve let himself be taken by that phlegm-spewing cabby when he had the chance, he mused as he repositioned himself on the large oak dining-table after the other man had wiggled his damn coffeepot in front of him asking for ‘water’.

 

 _Oh fuck, did he say that out loud?_ He suddenly wondered when Peter asked him about the taxi-ride. But luckily the older man wasn’t really interested in his travel-adventures, Stiles realized as he followed Peter’s gaze towards his own lap.

 

_Well. At least his dick seemed to be enjoying itself..._

 

“Would you like me to get that for you?”

 

_Finally!_

 

“How thoughtful.”

 

 

He didn’t even know how he suddenly ended up in this position, but he knew it must have been somewhere around the time that he started begging. He’d been seeing stars ever since Peter had decided that the best way to help him with his little ‘leakage’ problem, was to fervently put his mouth and tongue to use as a mop.

 

The sensation of facial hair gently brushing up and down his leg. And _god_ that man’s mouth. He’d been fantasizing about that mouth like _forever_ – okay, so maybe not _forever_ forever, but definitely since the first time he laid eyes on him –  and just watching the man put that excruciatingly voluptuous bottom-lip to such good – _good_ –  use was all he’d needed to proclaim him the next Messiah.

 

The feeling of Peter’s strong hands holding him down while rutting his hard cock against his still clothed ass made him realize how much of a walking kink-encyclopedia he truly was. _Daddy-kink, Teacher-kink, Motor-bike-kink, Glasses-kink, Chest-hair-kink, Ass-kink, Submission-kink…_ _Kink-kink_.

 

 _It’s raining kinks, hallelujah, it’s raining kinks, amen_ …

 

Okay, so maybe his mind just wasn’t that original when it came to providing an appropriate background tune.

 

Apparently Peter had some kinks of his own, judging by the way the man had blatantly started to dry-hump him into oblivion. Not that Stiles was complaining. _Nope, no complaining on his part, complaining definitely didn’t live on this side of the Universe. Not a single complaint in sight._

 

Peter panted into his ears, asking him if he wanted to be fucked like this, and just like that, Stiles was done. He wanted to say things like ‘yes, god yes!’, ‘take me now!’, or ‘my body is ready’ – _okay, no wait, scrap that last one._

 

“ _Please…_ ,” he heard himself whimper instead.

 

Peter clearly didn’t need more incentives as Stiles could feel his last piece of clothing practically being ripped from his body in record time. _Yup, that’s definitely going to leave a mark._

 

The slick feeling of the man’s length sliding upwards between his cheeks made him expand the puddle of drool beneath him. He couldn’t even manage to close his mouth for a second to swallow. A hand had enclosed on his own still leaking cock and all he could think of was how extremely hot it must look like from a distance – fire-hot, as in _walking on the sun without any footwear_ hot – and how bummed he was that he wasn’t able to see how hot it looked for himself.

 

As he felt his cheeks being wrapped around Peter’s cock, he couldn’t help but rut up and down himself, trying to help the older man get off. The noises echoing through the silence of the house were down-right obscene.

 

Suddenly a sense of serious contemplation came over him as he felt sweat and pre-come trickling between his cleft and tickling down his balls.

 

“I_ I’ve never_I’ve never done this_before,” he heard himself confess in between his uncontrollable panting. As he felt the man stop his persistent thrusting, a short burst of fear darted through his chest. _Oh god, no no no no no, please don’t stop._ But before he could truly panic, he felt Peter’s hot breath against his ear.

 

“Neither have I,” the man said with a smug voice that sounded like someone had sampled a cheese-grater on his vocal-chords, while his hand pumped Stiles’ length again with one determinate movement.

 

“Oh_My_Gooood,” And just like that Stiles could feel his balls retract as he painted the wood beneath him to match the peeling white garden-gate.

 

Feeling his body go limb on top of the table, he felt his chest and abdomen getting slick with his own sweat and come. He was definitely too blissed out to care. He could feel his cheek smearing in his own puddle of – now cold – drool, which would’ve been gross if he had the energy to care about anything right now.

 

 _Look at all the fucks I care_ , he mentally hummed as he realized his bare ass was also still sticking up in the air like a cat in heat.

 

“God that is so hot,” he tried to mumble with his cheek still plastered to the oak, mouth hanging agape making his bottom-lip touch the wood in a weird side-ways position.

 

“Sorry about that by the way,” he mumbled again. _Sorry my ass_ , he thought.

 

Suddenly aware of the lack of warmth against his ass, he tried in vain to shift his face so he could get a glimpse of what going on behind him.

 

“So,” he started again. “You’ve never uh…” he tried to lift up his arm to wave at it ass, but he didn’t get any further than flipping his wrist while limply flapping his hand.

 

When the man finally spoke, his voice seemed to be coming from the kitchen.

 

“Stiles, I’ve been married for almost 25 years, I’m 42,” Stiles could hear the sound of a drawer opening and closing as Peter continued. “Contrary to popular belief, I do belief in monogamy,” Peter’s voice started to sound closer now. “And I’ve never felt enticed to forgo on that marital commitment.”

 

When a small bottle and a strip of condoms landed on the table in his line of sight, Stiles tried to lift himself from his current position. But before he could let his arms take his full weight, the sudden feeling of his cheeks being parted and a wet tongue lapping at his hole made his arms falter, and he smacked right back down again.  

 

“Oh my god, ” he murmured half against the wood. “Okay, yeah, yes, or we can do that.”

 

He could actually feel the man’s smug grin against his ass just before he felt the tip of a tongue prodding at his entrance.

 

“Mm, nice and clean,” Peter noted with delight.

 

Of course he was clean. Stiles was nothing if not prepared, so he’d made it into his personal mission to make sure he would be clean _inside and out_.

 

“Douche,” was the only reply he managed to vocalize while having another man’s tongue pressing inside his ass.

 

“Now now, there’s no need for name-calling,” Peter reprimanded teasingly as he briefly stopped his prodding.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard he was sure he just got a glimpse of his own brain.

 

“ _Anal_ Douche, you douche. _Oh My God!”_ The sensation of two fingers suddenly being inserted beside the tongue made sure Stiles couldn’t even remember what they were talking about.

 

Peter just replied by humming in content, the vibration making Stiles quiver.

 

It’s not that he never had anything up his ass before, _no siree_ , but this was definitely a different feeling than any dildo, vibrator or butt-plug he’d used on himself in the past. This was warm and wet and alive. And god, the feeling of the man’s facial hair scraping against his skin almost made him want to cry. This was _definitely_ something he could get used to. _A lot._

 

Before he could get completely entranced by the collected rhythm in which Peter was now fucking him with his tongue and fingers, the man retreated briefly only to replace the warmth of his face with the warmth of his still ever rock-hard thunder-stick. _What? He can call it a ‘thunder-stick’ in his mind if he wants to, there’s no shame in that. Shut up._

 

He could hear the sound of a bottle-cap followed by the cool feeling of lube being squirted on his tender skin, when he saw a hand reaching for the strip of condoms.

 

“No!” he suddenly heard himself yelp with intent.

 

He didn’t need to see the other man’s face to know it was probably drenched in confusion, so taking in a deep breath – as deep as his current position allowed – he tried to explain using as little words and punctuation as possible.

 

“I’m clean you’re clean want to feel you inside me now please.”

 

 _Yes_ , Stiles internally smiled as he heard the plain savage growling sounds behind him _, this man definitely has some kinks of his own._

 

There was nothing gentle about it, and Stiles would be lying if he’d say he didn’t revel in that fact.

 

The older man draped himself all over his back, grabbing Stiles’ hands and extending his arms until Stiles’ upper-body was literally laying completely stretched across the hard wood of the table-top. In a manner of seconds the man was using one of his hands to line himself up, other hand still tangled with Stiles’, and without any warning at all Stiles could feel Peter pressing inside him, filling him up completely within only three rough thrusts.

 

Stiles actually felt completely blissed-out. This was good. This was exactly what he needed.

 

Apparently Stiles wasn’t the only one who’d needed this, because as the other man was panting coarsely into his ear, whispering things like ‘oh yeah, you like this don’t you?, want me to fill you up? fill your tight little ass with my come?’ while slamming Stiles’ legs and hips hard against the rim of the table with each untamed thrust, it literally took mere minutes before he could feel a pulse of warmth filling him up from inside.

 

Suddenly the house fell silent once more, just the seemingly distant echo of shallow breaths becoming less shallow as time progressed.

 

Everything hurts. But it’s a good kind of pain, a hurting that indicates pure satisfaction and bliss.

 

Alas that moment of bliss was quickly overruled by the full weight of the older man’s body still draped on top of him, which was now kind of becoming a source of annoyance.    

 

“Um, yes, you can get off me now, pretty sure I won’t mind,” he said trying to push himself up. No response. “Okay, get off, now!” He started to get a bit irritated by the lack of cooperation from the other man while he tried to push himself up with all his might. All he got in response was a soft chuckle.

 

“Pretty sure I just did,” Peter literally purred into his neck.

 

“Oh my god, you fuckface! That’s it, you will pay for this. I am so going to make you pay for this,” he promised while writhing until the other man finally rolled over to the side.

 

Finally freed from the pressure that made his current bruises even more apparent, he slowly let himself fall back down again. Looking at the side of Peter’s own blissed out face, he tried to give his former threat more heat.

 

“You will pay,” he knew he sounded heatless and downright exhausted instead. “So much paying will be going on…”

 

He could sleep right then and there if it wasn’t for the really annoying tickling feeling of Peter’s come trickling down his balls and the ache of his revitalized semi hard-on being pressed against the hard table,  so instead he sighed and pushed himself up. He felt his head spin briefly as he finally managed to rejoin the vertical world of the living once again. _Victory!_

 

He couldn’t help but smile as he wiped the spit from the side of his face, looking around while trying to get back the feeling in his legs. _Apparently those things do need a regular blood-flow to fully function_.

 

There’s something new to be learnt every day. Like the fact that having come streaming down your leg is actually pretty gross. Which in term was kind of a letdown if Stiles was being honest with himself. He curiously watched the trail reaching the inside of his knee when Peter decided to talk.

 

“Well, that was certainly a gratifying entrée,” he said with a crooked grin while sitting upright leaning on his palms. “Where would you like to begin with our main-course?” He looked at Stiles as if seriously expecting an answer, and seeing as Stiles was still half-hard and definitely ready for round two – _and three, and four_ – he started to look around while rubbing his chin to depict his internal pondering.

 

He had inspected all the possible fuck-locations of the house when he first entered – of course he did – but somehow his Victorian piety – _ha ha_ – took control, and he grabbed the other man’s hand dragging him from the table, leading him into the direction of the bedroom.

 

As Stiles positioned himself fully on the bed, Peter stood at the foot-end and threw his robe to the side.  Standing there with his back to the dressing mirror, gave Stiles a perfect view of the man’s perfect ass. A sudden rush of fondness came over him. Fondness for the person who had thought it a good idea to put a mirror at such a perfect spot. Everything was just perfect. _‘Perfect’ was definitely his new favorite word_ , he thought as he started to palm his dick.

 

Peter just stood there, fully entranced, watching him stroke himself.

 

It was nice, being watched like that by a highly attractive specimen of a man, but to be honest, Stiles was ready for some more one-on-one action right about now.

 

“Are you gonna help me with this, or are you just going to stand there and watch me create an arousal-induced aneurism?” It wasn’t really a question, and he just prayed to god that the other man’s brains still had enough blood flowing through to get the hint.

 

He got his answer when the man placed his knees on the bed and started to crawl towards him like an animal approaching its pray, laying himself down with his head in between Stiles’ legs.

 

Peter was looking straight at him, pupils dilated to the size of saucers, and Stiles couldn’t help but stare back expectantly while licking his lips. Not leaving Stiles’ eyes, not even to blink, Peter grabbed the base of his dick and started licking at the underside of his length in long, painfully slow licks. _Perfect._

 

As Stiles was kneading through the man’s hair while getting the best blowjob of his life – okay, so it was the _only_ blowjob of his life, but let’s not dwell on minor details right now – he suddenly noticed something moving in the mirror.

 

He casually tried to get a better look and couldn’t help but let out a snort as he realized what he’d seen. The mirror reflected the broad window above the bed and Stiles could clearly see a familiar figure secretly peeping through it from the side.

 

Just thinking about that made him tighten his grip on the other man’s hair as he released himself down the man’s throat with a short gasp.

 

After Peter swallowed the last drop and gave his head one last lick looking satisfied with his own cleaning-job, the man rolled over to lay on his back. Stiles rolled half on top of him, running his fingers through the man’s chest-hair, before giving him a kiss and jumping off the bed.

 

“Wait here, I gotta go get something,” he said while already walking to the door, swiping up the robe and putting it on on his way out.

 

 

“See something you like?” Stiles could hear himself practically purr while he leant casually against the side of the house. _Peter must be rubbing off on him_ (no pun intended).

 

Isaac flailed as he literally plummeted to the ground beneath the window-sill, holding up his arms and hands in defense. He kind of looked like a puppy, a kicked puppy.

 

Considering the guy’s past, Stiles couldn’t help but find it just plain sad instead of endearing. He reached out his hand, watching Isaac’s defense slowly melt away as he looked from Stiles to the inviting hand in front of him. Still somewhat uncertain Isaac placed his hand in Stiles’ and let himself be lifted to his feet.

 

Stiles couldn’t help but stare at the other boy’s now limp dick hanging out of his pants. Shaking his head out of his daze he looked back up to catch Isaac’s eyes.

 

“You wanna take control?” he asked the blonde-curled – and very tall –  boy in front of him. Looking up at Isaac made Stiles realize that _yes, he definitely has a height-kink too._

 

Isaac looked back and forth between Stiles’ eyes when his mouth suddenly started to display an almost devious smirk. Stiles recognized that smirk. He had seen that same smirk on Isaac’s face just before Stiles crowded him against the wall of the smoking-area mere weeks ago.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yes, I want to take control.” There was definitely a new found determination to be found in Isaac’s eyes and words.

 

And just like that Stiles was leading his newly found toy into The Featherhouse.

 

 

“Look who decided to join our party,” Stiles smiled as he gently pushed the other boy into the bedroom.

 

Peter looked at Isaac, letting his eyes slowly skim the boy’s body from head to toe and back up again. Meeting the boy’s determined bright blue eyes, he purred with content.

 

“Isaac. What a day filled with pleasantries!”

 

Isaac took a step towards the bed, looking slightly bewildered, yet certain and aroused at the same time.

 

“I want… I want to have control,” he confessed while looking at his feet. He actually looked exactly like a shy schoolgirl, complete with slumped shoulders and fidgeting hands.

 

 

Isaac watched how the older man slid of the bed in such a seductive way, that it could’ve been considered creepy instead of enticing.

 

“What is it you want _exactly_ , Isaac” the man asked while taking a few steps towards him. But before he had a chance to reply, Peter spoke again, asking the same question again, but with just that little twist in words Isaac needed to let himself go completely.

 

“What is it that you want. Son?”

 

“That! Yes. That, I_I want that,” he almost stumbled over his own words trying to jump at the offer the older man had just put forward by uttering that single word.

 

The older man nodded while lifting his hands up, spreading them, palms up as if offering the entire room, leaving the ball in Isaac’s court.

 

This was just the incentive Isaac felt he needed to take control and start directing.

 

Quickly scanning the room he found exactly what he was looking for. He grabbed the pile of neatly folded clothing from the chair and threw it towards the older man.

 

“Get dressed,” he commanded while he walked over to the bedside table.

 

“And these,” he continued while handing Peter his glasses.

 

Peter looked somewhat confused for a little bit, but visibly shook it off and started putting on his chinos and dress-shirt without complaint.

 

“Enjoy the show,” he waved towards the chair in the corner of the room while smirking at Stiles. Stiles got the hint and hopped over to take a seat, moving himself around in the chair a bit as if to get more comfy.

 

“Comfortable?”

 

“Hm hm,” Stiles retorted with glee.

 

He walked over to Peter who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and wearing his glasses _. This was definitely going to be good_. Bending down he started to whisper in the older man’s ear, getting a few affirmative hums in response. He backed off to look at the man, waiting for approval.

 

Peter smiled at him with a devilish grin. “I believe that can be arranged, Mr. Lahey. Now why don’t you take a look in that drawer,” the man pointed to the bedside drawer only using his eyes. “See if you can find anything you like.”

 

 _Well there’s a nice surprise_ , Isaac’s mind approved as he scanned the inside of the drawer. Rummaging through the contents, he actually felt a bit like a kid in a candy-store.

 

Raising his eyebrow, he picked up a purple [U-shaped double-dong](http://www.shop4gay.com/anal-toys/dildo-dubbel/paarse-double-dong.html), only to wave it questioningly at the other man. “Really?”

 

Peter just shrugged, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling in feigned innocence.

 

Without looking, Isaac started to gleefully fling things from the drawer onto the bed.

 

“… oh I like [this](http://www.shop4gay.com/fetish/zweepjes-en-knevels/mondbit.html)… hm… [this](http://www.shop4gay.com/fetish/enkelboeien/bovenbeen-en-pols-boeien.html) could be interesting too… oh!” he suddenly stopped to turn towards Peter while slowly retrieving his hand from the drawer, beaming while he showed the man what treasure he’d just found. “And definitely [this](http://www.shop4gay.com/fetish/zweepjes-en-knevels/s-m-xoxo-paddle-roze.html),” he says while throwing the pink paddle towards the older man, who catches it without effort.

 

Standing a few feet in front of the older man, he waited, waiting for the older man to do exactly what he wants him to do. And luckily, it didn’t take long for the man to start granting him his wishes.

 

“Strip,” Peter commanded and Isaac happily obliged. “Leave the boxers,” Peter added.

 

“Now get over here,” the older man said while patting his own lap. “Get over here and tell me that you’ve been a good boy.”

 

Isaac took a seat sitting side-ways on one of Peter’s thighs, slumping his shoulders and bowing his head down in submission.

 

“Have you been a good boy, Isaac?”

 

“Y_yeah, yes. Yes sir,” he said while fidgeting with his hands.

 

“You’re not lying to me, now, are you son?”

 

“N_no sir.”

 

The older man placed a hand on his thigh, slowly rubbing it up and down in the vicinity of Isaac’s already half-hard cock.

 

“Hm… I think you’re lying to me, son, I think you’ve been a very very bad boy. And you know what we have to do with boys that have been naughty, now don’t you?” Peter stopped rubbing Isaac’s thigh only to grab Isaac’s hand instead and lead it to the bulge in front of his chinos. Placing his own hand on top of Isaac’s the older man started to slowly rub his clothed erection.

 

“Y_yes sir,” he replied as he started to unbutton and unzip the older man’s pants. Peter was already firmly kneading his ass, suddenly giving it a soft pat to indicate that he should move. Isaac dutifully obliged by getting on his knees on the wooden floorboards in front of him.

 

As Peter held the base of his own dick with one hand, he placed his other on the nape of Isaac’s neck.

 

“Now show me how sorry you are,” he said will pushing him towards the already leaking head.

 

Isaac took it in, the pressure of the man’s hand on his head increasing and making him swallow him whole. He almost choked, feeling tears starting to roll down his cheeks, but it felt good, oh so good, and he started to suck with gusto.

 

He didn’t even get a chance to use his tongue as the older man’s hand kept pushing him down so hard that he could taste the pre-come being forced down the back of his throat, feeling the man’s glans touching his uvula with each down-ward push. He was literally chocking on dick.

 

As Peter kept reassuring him about what a good boy he was, the pressure increased, and it didn’t take long before Isaac could feel the man’s pushing movements stutter. He almost started to cough when the warm wave of come squirted down his throat.

 

“Good boy,” the man spoke as the now relaxed hand on his head started to pet his hair.

 

Releasing the now softened cock with a slurping sound, a few drops of drool and come dripped to the ground.

 

Gesturing towards the spilled fluids on the floorboards, Peter grabbed him by his chin using only his thumb and index-finger while tilting his head a bit as if his patience was being tested. “We don’t want to leave a mess, now do we?”

 

“N_no sir,” Isaac shook his head and bent all the way down to start cleaning the moist spot on the floor with his tongue.

 

“Such a good boy,” Peter offered again with content. “Now get on the bed on your hands and knees.”

 

Positioning himself transversely on the bed, he waited for his next instructions.

 

“It’s not just the lying Isaac, you know that. You’ve been a naughty boy. You know I don’t really want to do this, but we have to find a way to make you reprimand, don’t you agree?”

 

“Yes sir, I deserve it sir.”

 

“Good. Now pull down your boxers and bent down deep.”

 

Leaning down on his elbows he used one hand to pull down the back of his boxers, giving the older man a full view of his ass. It didn’t take long before the first hit of the paddle filled his body with pain and heat.

 

“It’s time to show some true remorse, son,” Peter rebuked as he swung the paddle down again and again and again. Isaac could feel his face burn up, the continues slapping making his ass feel too numb to have time to register any real pain.

 

 _No, the pain would come later_ , Isaac knew from experience. But this pain would be good. This pain would be what _he_ wanted, what he’d asked for himself. And he could refuse to say ‘sorry’ if he wanted to. He wanted to. He stayed quiet and took it. He took it and he liked it.

 

The slapping stopped and the pain became _painfully_ apparent. It was good. It felt right.

 

“I’ve got to say, Isaac, I’m not really feeling you reprimand. But don’t worry, I still believe in you, son. We’ll just have to find some other way to let you show your remorse.” And just like that Isaac saw a bundle of leather falling down on the bed in front of him.

 

He knew what they were, after all he’d picked them from the drawer himself.

 

Hopping his body to turn, sitting down upright on his knees so he was now facing Peter, he grabbed the bundle of attributes from behind him and offered them to the man in front of him, before also offering him his wrists.

 

Peter seemed more than pleased as he took the straps from him and started to bind his wrists to his thighs, making sure he wouldn’t be able to resist anything that was about to come.

 

“Get fully on the bed and face the mirror,” the older man commanded while he moved onto the bed himself. Isaac writhed into position to comply and he could see the other man position himself behind him, looking back at him through the mirror while dangling the bridle-bit.

 

“If you’re not going to apologize for your actions anyway…” the man offered as an explanation while he started to bend over to put the bit in his mouth and strap it tightly in place.

 

The stretch of his jaw hurts, but it arouses him nonetheless.

 

He feels his head being pushed down a bit, making his strapped body topple forward just enough.

 

Looking up from beneath his lashes, he can see how Peter not even bothers to unbutton his pants and just zips down his zipper to free his full length. It looks hot. It’s hot to watch how the man spits in his own hand and starts rubbing it down his cleft, it’s so hot to see the man spit again only to slick himself up. Isaac looks at himself in the mirror to see how his jaw is straining against the mouth-piece, how his eyes have started to tear-up, and he loves it. 

 

“Let’s see how remorseful you truly are,” he hears the older man mutter as he feels him line up without using any lube, other hand on his shoulder holding him in place. And in just one hard thrust he can feel himself being stretched and filled up completely. He wants to scream, but the mouthpiece makes sure it comes out nothing more than a muffled cry. His eyes sting from the tears that have started to run down his face. He bites down on the bit while he watches himself be taken by the still fully clothed man behind him.

 

 _God, he loves that mirror_.

 

He actually has no idea how much time had passed when he heard a growl followed by the older man collapsing on his back, but it felt like ages.

 

“So good,” Peter panted hoarsely into his ear before falling to the side and taking Isaac with him. While strong arms wrapped around him, he could feel the man busying himself on the straps until his wrists where freed. Freeing himself from the mouth-piece he felt like there was only one thing he could say to the man behind him that would encompass his overall feeling right now.

 

“Thank you,” he offered in all honesty.

 

“My pleasure,” Peter replied with a smile in his voice while nuzzling the nape of Isaac’s neck.

 

“So…,” Isaac started as if that word in itself entailed all the obvious _._ (And to be honest, to him it kind of does)

“So…?” he could hear Peter question with a slightly confused undertone.

 

“Well. Now it’s our turn, obviously,” Isaac offered while rolling himself off the bed to get up.

 

“Some help?” he asked while looking at Stiles, who was still leisurely playing with his own dick.

 

Stiles almost tripped over his own feet while jumping from the chair to join them.

 

“Hell yes!” the other boy exclaimed in excitement while scrambling to the bed.

 

Sitting on either side of the older man, Isaac threw Stiles two pair of [straps](http://www.shop4gay.com/fetish/handboeien/leren-polsboeien-rood.html) and a set of chains. As they bound Peter’s wrists and ankles to the bed, they made sure the straps were nice and tight, not able to give under the man’s strength. When the straps where in place, they looked at each other with a satisfied grin.

 

Isaac turned around and opened the drawer of the bed-side dresser, pulling out a set of [nipple-clamps](http://www.shop4gay.com/fetish/tepelklemmen/borstenketting-met-klemmen-30cm.html), holding them up to show at Stiles. Stiles looked at the clamps, before meeting Isaac’s eyes again,  grin turning impossibly wider in response.

 

Peter started to look a bit nervous.

 

[...]


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;__; 
> 
>  
> 
> One more Chapter to go... (don't worry, I tagged it as having a 'Happy Ending' ;))

** Chapter 7 **

                                               

 

_Dear Mr. Stilinski (and also Mr. Lahey of course),_

_That certainly was a very nice surprise and a very nice read indeed. Thank you both._

_It truly saddens me to inform you that this will be my last ‘slide’ and with that my last private e-mail._

_There have been some things going on in my personal-life, things that have reached a point at which they need to be sorted out._

_This has nothing to do with you – with us – nor with our little after-school activities. I need you to know that._

_I want you to know how much joy our correspondence has been for me, and I do sincerely hope this feeling has been mutual. You have brightened my days in ways I never thought possible, at least not anymore, and I wish you so much good in life. You are so bright, so beautiful, and I can only imagine what the future will hold for you, Stiles._

_With this last message I’m also asking you to not write to me anymore. Again, this has nothing to do with you, I hope you can trust me on that._

_Perhaps until we meet again?_

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Peter_

 

 

**Slide 7: Peter**

 

 

_“I want you to treat me like a naughty boy who needs to be punished. I want you to spank me and then fuck me hard.”_

 

There was certainly no room for interpretation as to what Isaac wanted when he whispered those words into his ear.

 

Peter, of course, is always ready to lend a fellow man a helping hand in times of need.

 

What he hadn’t accounted for was the apparently intended role-reversal at the end of the show.

 

Isaac hopped off the bed and discarded of the thigh-straps and his boxers in two swift movements while reaching for the wrist- and ankle-straps. Peter had noticed the boy also getting those from the drawer before, but since he hadn’t thrown them on the bed as he did the rest of the props, Peter hadn’t thought anything of it.

 

Until now.

 

Now the purpose of the straps was suddenly becoming very apparent and very _very_ clear.

 

If it wasn’t for the fact that he just miraculously managed to perform three times in a row – apparently sexual deprivation does have its benefits –  and was literally feeling like someone had put a suction-pump to his dick and turned it on to full power, he probably would’ve protested a bit more about being manhandled and splayed across the bed like a porn-star ready to be had.

 

Then again, just looking at the two pale naked boys hovering over him like he was some sort of deity to be worshipped, he couldn’t deny feeling a bit proud. _They want him_.

 

They want from him what his wife hadn’t wanted in so many years, not after they’d found out he wasn’t able to give her what she wanted, the child she craved for. Maybe he should bring these near-children home, present them to her with a little mock ‘look honey, apparently I can have kids after all’, just to see her reaction. Just to see her display any reaction at all.

 

That visual actually made him huff out a snort. He shook it off and brought his focus back to the scene in front of him, the scene of which he was undeniably a part even if he was currently just a spectator

 

The only thing wrong with this whole entourage is the fact that, apart from his now limp – and utterly drained – dick still hanging out of his pants, he himself is still wearing said pants ánd his shirt.

 

A fact for which he was glad mere seconds later when Mr Lahey withdrew the chain with nipple-clamps from the bedside-drawer and dangled them above him for Stiles to approve.

 

Of course Stiles approves. _That little bastard_ , his mind provided without any real heat behind it.

 

Watching the clamps being tossed to his side, he watched how Stiles and Isaac reached over his body and started to lick into each other’s mouths as if they’d just been notified that the world will end really – _really_ – soon. Peter could actually feel the growing enthusiasm of both boys becoming apparent against his sides.

 

“Um, gentlemen…?”

 

No response.

 

Peter just had to watch helplessly how the two young men started to ‘aid’ each other fervently, groping and caressing each other’s bodies with a new found eager. Stiles was practically dragging the blonde boy across Peter to join him at his side, gripping the boy’s curls without releasing his mouth once. Peter could swear he felt his dick twitch at the sight of it, but maybe that was just Isaac’s skin accidentally brushing against it.

 

Peter watched how Isaac started to play with Stiles’ nipple-ring, pinching and pulling, making the other boy moan hoarsely at each touch. He watched how the blonde bowed forward and started sucking and biting and pulling the little ring with his teeth. He watched how they both got fully hard and how their hard-on’s started to bounce on top of his dress-shirt like two light-sabers ready for an intergalactic battle.   

 

_Wouldn’t it be strangely amusing if they started to actually leak fluorescent pre-come though…_

 

And then, suddenly, Stiles released Isaac, pulling the other boy’s head up to nip at his bottom-lip just a few more times before sitting himself back on his calves, panting and turning towards Peter. His lips were red and swollen, his hair plastered to his forehead, drenched with sweat. He was still panting as he bent towards Peter, watching him with a smile that made silent promises, when he finally spoke.

 

“We’ll make it worth your while, trust us,” Stiles whispered into his ear, before returning to his living play-doll.

 

They both gave each other a knowingly look before Isaac started to focus on removing his pants – well, at least until they were down to his still tied ankles –  and Stiles started to unbutton his shirt with his _oh so lean and long_ fingers, accidentally ripping off a few buttons in the process.

 

He should’ve known it would’ve been Stiles who leaned over to grab the clamps first – somehow Peter always thought of the kid as someone who would take pleasure in seeing him squirm.

 

Come to think of it, he was actually willingly tied up with a masochist ánd a sadist hovering over his semi-naked body. _What did that make him exactly?_ _Hm…probably also some subset of masochist…_

 

That line of thought quickly got cut short when Stiles and Isaac started to place the clamps over his nipples, both working and concentrating on one nipple each. Watching Stiles dart out his tongue in concentration, Peter could feel the screws being tightened until a sharp jolt of an equal amount of pleasure and pain ripped through his body. _His cock was now definitely twitching._

 

Looking utterly pleased with their own handy-work and without any notification up front, they both turned and lowered themselves to start grabbing at his dick, licking at it and in turn also licking each other. It was as if he was watching two new-born kittens fighting over a bag of catnip.

 

The sensation of the clamps pulling at his nipples when Isaac pulled at the chain in combination with two mouths suckling and nipping at his length was almost unbearable. It felt so good. Too good, _almost._

 

It didn’t take long before his body started to buck up uncontrollably, his hands grabbing at the bars of the bed, and he could feel his dick straining to release itself once more.

 

The hair on his abdomen was glistering with his own come as he watched how Isaac and Stiles started to work on each-other, releasing themselves all over Peter in record time.

He could feel his eyes fighting to stay open long enough to see them smearing their own come to mingle with his, putting come-covered hands in front of each other to lick clean. They looked happy and satisfied, and with his eyes already having lost the battle of staying awake, he fell asleep with the feeling of his wrists and nipples being freed of their restraints.

 

 

 

The sound of a bird chirping loudly by the windowsill above the bed made him slowly drift back to consciousness. _That fucking magpie_ , he thought as he suddenly started to realize where he was. He had his arms around two bodies curled up against him on either side. He felt one hand splayed across his shoulder accompanied with the soft brush of curls against his neck, and one hand on his chest, fingers gently playing with his chest-hair accompanied with wet lips pecking little kisses just below his nipple. He was almost sure this was just some dream, and that, in turn, made him a bit reluctant to open his eyes.

 

“Can’t we stay here forever?” Stiles whispered softly while still curling his fingers through his chest-hair.

 

“Yeah, can we? Please?” The other boy mumbled against his shoulder.

 

Peter just tightened his grip to pull them both closer and smiled.

 

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, Isaac is 18+ 
> 
> just thought I'd point that out... 
> 
> after all, I wouldn't want you all to think I'd make a 42 year old have sex with 2 underaged boys... ('cause thát would be soooo much worse and all o_O *facepalm*)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ++++ And They Fucked Eachother Senseless Happily Ever After++++

** Chapter 8 **

 

A few months had passed since he received that last e-mail, their last slide, and Stiles couldn’t help but think about it at the most unusual times. He noticed himself almost snapping his neck every time he heard some student mention Hale’s name in passing. It was like his ears had somehow developed a special focus, filtering out every other sound the minute the man’s name reached his hearing.

 

He even once walked straight into one of the glass doors dividing the corridor of the H-building with the main-cafeteria while trying to listen in on someone’s conversation about Mr. Hale. _That had been only ‘mildly’ embarrassing._ But in Stiles’ defense, they’d been talking about Hale getting a divorce, and thát was definitely worth the nose-bleed.

 

He had passed the course (off course), with an impressive A+ nonetheless. He knew that his grade had absolutely nothing to do with their little online rendezvous. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. Their correspondence had certainly been the right incentive for Stiles to study harder and maintain his absurdly high score. But it had been his own studying and not some cliché physical sexual favor that had made him pass the man’s course, so he didn’t feel too bad about it.

 

He didn’t have any other courses in the C-building afterwards, so there was absolutely no need for him to be there, and in turn he hadn’t seen Mr. Hale after their last course-meeting. Their last contact had been that last e-mail, that last ‘slide’.

 

He did find himself frequently stopping in front of the building while passing it to get to H. That little voice in his head contemplating to just walk in and knock on the man’s office-door. _Just to say ‘hello’_. But his _reason_ always spoke for him, making his feet move in the opposite direction instead.

 

It was better this way, Stiles tried to make himself believe. Hale hadn’t been interested in anything more, he was just a man with whom he had a little written fling, nothing more, nothing less.

 

Still, there was always this little voice in the back of his head whispering ‘what if…’.

 

He was no longer a virgin (thank god!), as the slide-writing had made their ‘study-sessions’ go a bit awry and Isaac and he had decided to become fuck-buddies instead. Apparently they both had some kinky ideas when it came to sex and they were both happy to lend each other a hand (or two) with playing out their fantasies. _Match made in heaven._

 

It had definitely all worked out for the best. _And still…_

 

 

 

On his 18th birthday Stiles received a birthday-card with his name written on the envelope in a familiar handwriting. He didn’t open it until he was upstairs in the safety of his own room, carefully peeling on the corners of the envelope.

 

The moment he opened the card, two Polaroid-pictures fell out. Stiles picked them up and flipped them over to reveal not only a snapshot of an old sign with two rusty ornaments portraying feathers nailed on either side of a barely readable name, but also a selfie of Peter Hale, posing with none other than Isaac – his fuck-buddy Isaac Lahey!

 

Stiles opened the card and read the Professor’s old-fashioned handwriting full of long sweeping elegant lines.

 

Just below the pre-printed ‘Happy 18th Birthday’ the date of the upcoming weekend and an address  were scribbled down. On the other side it just said

 

**_Meet us at The Featherhouse._ **

****

**_P.H. & I.L._ **

 

When he looked down again at the picture containing visible proof of the house’s _actual existence_ , Stiles couldn’t contain the sudden bolt of laughter escaping his ever so traitorous mouth.

 

“That bastard, ” he said aloud, while looking at the other Polaroid.

 

“Those bastards!” he smirked as he walked over to his overnight-bag to start packing.

 

                                              

 

                                                    

                                                                                          **\- FIN -**   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot... one of my tags promised '50 ways to name the male sex-organ'... alas I didn't get to 50 seeing as it's kind of hard (haha) to put those in randomly without it seeming forced... (think I got to about 25 or so?) 
> 
> so... bc I didn't want to leave you all hanging, I looked it up and found this site where they mention 174 ways to call a 'penis' (!) Quite an interesting read if I say so myself (which I do ;)):
> 
> http://ncfm.org/2011/06/activities/san-diego/174-ways-to-call-a-penis-something-other-than-penis/
> 
> Cheers! -x-

**Author's Note:**

> oh, by the way, I put Isaac in because I just needed an innocent looking angelface guy... preferably one with dirty thoughts, and let's face it, the way Isaac looks at Scott at times... well, let's just say I think he'd be up for the job ^^
> 
> He will be a recurring character in the story *wink wink*


End file.
